


Warmness on the Soul

by terezilogic



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Cutting, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terezilogic/pseuds/terezilogic
Summary: Grantaire hadn't always loved Enjolras, but once he fell, he fell hard. Too drunk to handle Enjolras one night, Grantaire takes it a step too far. [Rewrite of an old work from 2014]
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	Warmness on the Soul

_ It wasn’t always like this.  _

Grantaire let out a grunt as his shoulder hit the old, warped frame of his apartment door. He shared this apartment with a boy he had been paired with in their first year, Enjolras. It had been a struggle at first, constant bickering and the occasional slamming of doors, but time proved a blessing, The two decided to continue to room together and here they were now, fourth year, sharing an apartment off campus. 

The brunette picked through his keyring, the door the only thing keeping the drunk standing, and shoved his chosen key into the keyhole. A quick flick of the wrist and Grantaire was falling through the threshold. The keys skittered on the wooden floor as their owner hit with a hard smack. Stars flickered in Grantaire’s vision and it was a good moment before he was able to pick himself up again. 

As Grantaire leaned against the couch, he let his gaze sweep the room. They fell on his keyring on the floor for only a brief second before loitering on the open kitchen entryway. His hands felt empty now that he had left the bar and dropped his keys. He knew exactly what he wanted to fill them with. 

The trip to the kitchen proved to be slightly more difficult than he imagined. What was a simple trip sober was twice as hard drunk. Once Grantaire let go of the couch, his legs gave out from underneath him and he splattered onto the living room rug. There was a dull, throbbing pain in his hand and he pulled it against himself as he slid onto his back. 

“Grantaire, what have you done now, you drunk fool?” He muttered to himself as he nursed his injury. 

The beer bottles waiting for him in the fridge were temporarily forgotten in the midst of this new pain. All he could do was lay on the floor and wait for the pain to ebb. If Enjolras was home, he would have gotten the first aid kit in the bathroom and checked to see if Grantaire had managed to break himself. 

“Enjolras…” Grantaire muttered. 

Of course. Enjolras was why he was in this mess in the first place. Enjolras had made him drink. Well, not that he meant to. In fact, Enjolras had always disdained Grantaire’s drinking for as long as the two had known each other. And even if Enjolras hadn’t shared his news with the group at the bar tonight, Grantaire had been going to drink anyway. But maybe he wouldn’t have drank as much. And maybe he wouldn’t have as little care for himself as he did right now. If only…

With a scream that sounded more like a war cry, Grantaire used his good arm to push himself to his knees, and then shakily to his feet. He was supporting himself now. That was a good sign. Now, back to the task at hand. 

The next few steps to the kitchen were slow and shaky, but he made it without another incident. The fridge opened with a creak and Grantaire was privy to his own stash of alcohol. His collection had dwindled over the years, since moving in with Enjolras. E had always cared about R. He just showed it in his own unique way. For instance, cutting down his alcohol ownership to cold beers only. R had resented it at first, but he knew that Enjolras just wanted to see him sober. Was that too much to ask?

Grantaire plucked a glass bottle of cold beer out of the cardboard container in the fridge. He tried uncapping it with his bare hands until a sharp pain went up his left arm. 

“Damn.” He had definitely bruised that hand, if not broken it.

Drunken Grantaire did the only other thing that Drunken Grantaire could think of doing to open the bottle. He slipped the cap against the fridge door and pulled. In his mind, this was supposed to cause enough force to pop the bottle cap right off. Instead, the unchecked power of the drunk caused the glass bottle to shatter in his hand. 

Grantaire shouted, “Fuck!” 

Red liquid oozed down his good arm and began to pool onto the floor. Grantaire opened his hand and let the large chunks of glass fall onto the floor. The clink of glass on tile was poetically beautiful for the situation. A drunk, unable to grasp the liquid he needs to survive. 

Ever so slowly, Grantaire slid onto the floor. With the fridge door still open and a mixture of glass, blood, and beer on the floor, Grantaire began to cry. It was a soft croon that turned into wracking sobs the longer he sat there on the kitchen floor. 

Enjolras would know what to do in this situation too. He always knew what to do. Whether it was home life, school life, or legal life, his pretty blonde best friend slash roommate was always the one who was in charge. He handled situations. A fixer. But Grantaire always knew this day would come.

The day that Enjolras would leave him. 

Their group of friends, who were mostly young law students in their last year, always got together on friday nights. Their evening had gone quite normally up until Enjolras came in from his late class. Grantaire always looked forward to the moment his roommate arrived. The slight smirk he always wore that would give way to a smile at the best of moments. His long, blonde curls that flowed down his back in waves. The way he held himself like he was better than you- and knew it too. Those soft eyes that hardened when they fought, sharp as rocks. Yes, Grantaire knew he would only have this man for a limited time. Eventually, life would catch up with him, and Enjolras would realize there was more than taking care of a drunk art student. 

That night, Enjolras came to the group bearing news. 

“I’m moving to America to get my law degree!” The blonde announced, his curls bouncing around his angelic face when he flipped his head back in triumph. 

“Here here!” His friends called. They all had a shot in his honor. Grantaire prayed that his inner turmoil didn’t show and headed home early that night, claiming a headache. No one thought twice. 

Enjolras still wasn’t back by the time Grantaire had calmed his tears. He figured that it must still be early in the night, especially early on a celebration. R took a few deep breaths until he could assess his situation. He was losing Enjolras. His best friend. The love of his life. Gone to America. Maybe he would return after law school, but if he did, he certainly wouldn’t have time for boring old artist Grantaire anymore. Enjolras would probably forget all about him.

Another sob escaped the man’s lips. His eyes flickered around the room and landed on a large shard of glass on the kitchen floor. An idea formed in his head. If Enjolras was going to leave him, Grantaire would leave Enjolras first. 

He snatched the piece of glass off the floor like it was a prized possession. On the arm that was already broken, he dug the piece of glass into the top of his wrist and dragged it sideways. Grantaire cried out in pain as he opened a wound in his wrist. That didn’t stop him from transferring the glass into his broken hand and making a matching mark on the other wrist. 

As Grantaire’s eyesight began to fade to black, he dropped the bloodied glass and slumped back against the cabinet. His last thought was how mad Enjolras would be when he realized Grantaire had left the fridge door open. 

_ No, it hadn’t always been this way. Enjolras had captured Grantaire’s life, whether he wanted it or not.  _


End file.
